


Train Gang

by Kuja



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Brief Mentions of Depression and PTSD, Charity Worker Steve Rogers, Coffee, Dodgy Sculptures, Flouting of Train Etiquette, London, M/M, Meet-Commute, Modern Bucky Barnes, Office Worker Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pretty Light-Hearted Honestly, The Author Has Issues With Trains, The London Transport System, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, commuting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 05:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18515098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuja/pseuds/Kuja
Summary: The mass of groaning bodies squashed into the carriage leered out of the dark, pressing closer; eyes filled with equal parts anger and disgust at the hopefuls waiting outside.Bucky squared his shoulders, summoned all his courage and winked at Steve, holding out his hand and saying in the deepest and most ridiculous voice he could muster:‘Come with me if you want to live.'





	Train Gang

**Train Gang**

 

The 124 gave up its desperate crawl with a final dying wheeze of the engine, and spat out Bucky and a dozen other slightly dazed passengers onto the street twenty minutes walk from the train station, which he supposed was at least a fair ten-minute improvement on each of the three days previously. 

He straightened the seams of his neat charcoal-grey suit, checked the bumper-to-bumper traffic and the cloudy skies and sighed deeply, running fingers through slightly mussed hair. He had to focus on the positives: no bus ride meant he could skip Hardware Store Lady’s daily 10x10 LCD porn extravaganza (Jim and Carl were just getting started in the hayloft, and my goodness could that be Miss Daisy with her broom coming to investigate?), and despite his deeply ingrained misgivings about jaywalking he could follow the crowds darting across the road and avoid having to wait for the psychotic lights at the next junction to go through no less than seven full cycles. He swore to anyone who would listen that the damned things were timed to annoy him in particular, though logic stubbornly dictated otherwise. 

He shouldered his bag carefully, double-checked his watch and cursed. He was going to have to sprint for it if he wanted to arrive at the station at his preferred time. Thank god he’d passed on that second Danish pastry before he left the house, or it would soon be making itself known again.

He still didn’t know exactly why he made the snap decision to leave Brooklyn. Despite the cheerful mask he pasted on each day for friends and family, underneath he was barely coping, drowning in his memories. The choice of something different felt like a rescue - a chance to turn his life around and see the more peaceful parts of the world that he fought and destroyed for so long. He hadn’t considered that all the fears and insecurities were rooted within himself, not the landscape of a city he knew so well. Now here he was - displaced, adrift; still scrambling to gather and mend the parts of himself last seen blasted into a thousand pieces across a Kabul street.

In the couple of weeks since arriving in London, low-grade anxiety had been Bucky’s constant and often nagging companion. He knew he left the house way too early in the mornings - and walked faster than he strictly needed to - but it meant that when he reached the station he had time to breathe, and if he also slipped into the coffee shop opposite and continued his lifelong quest to fur up his arteries, well that was no ones business but his own.

When he exited the shop all his focus narrowed down to the blissful warmth of the caffeine source in his hand, and Bucky didn’t even bother to look at the electronic display on the train platform until he had been standing there for several minutes, burning his tongue with every delicious sugary sip and fighting a (losing) internal battle of whether it was worth the hassle of removing the lid.

The display flashed and rippled to the next train arriving, and Bucky realised that his train was delayed by a few minutes, and there was a scrolling alert that he’d never seen before. 

‘Train is composed of four carriages.’

Damn. That wasn’t good. All the trains Bucky had seen at this station had been at least eight carriages, and even then he had had to do his best awkward sardine impression on several occasions, fighting claustrophobia and panic the whole way. _Four?_ No fucking way was he was going to fit, unless fully half the population of Greater London had decided to drive to the seaside for crumpets, or whatever else the British did when on mass vacation. 

Abandoning his advanced lid manoeuvre, he instead double checked the messenger bag at his side (still fixed securely over his left shoulder) and focused on psyching himself up for the impending crush, though when the train finally pulled into the station and wasn’t long enough to even reach where he stood he already knew it was going to be pointless. Bodies filled the aisles and squashed up against glass, and people were already running down the length of the platform to shuffle-dance back and forth anxiously in front of the worryingly few sets of doors, with limited success.

Bucky walked reluctantly towards the tiny train and checked inside, expression growing even more skeptical. He’d have to be either a world class limbo dancer or miniature breed of hamster to even consider it, and that wasn’t factoring in his precious coffee or his brain’s helpful tendency towards panic attacks in enclosed metal spaces. Nope, he’d just wait. The next train would have more room, and he could be pressed against the most intimate parts of strangers in relative comfort, thank you very much.

As the train pulled slowly away Bucky tried to feign nonchalance, as if he didn’t really need or want it anyway - and well, he _didn’t_ \- he was technically early and his coffee was way more important - so he turned to go back the way he had come and caught someone staring at him from a few feet away. He stopped walking in spite of himself, suddenly unsure of how to proceed.

For a start, this just wasn’t _done._ Bucky hadn't been in London very long, but he was Brooklyn-raised and in the City you didn’t meet the eyes of the people you had the dubious pleasure of suffering a commute with. You just didn’t. _Maybe_ if you both shared the same carriage on the same line for 20 years, and subbed each other breakfast a half-dozen times and saved their life in a skiing accident or something - but they still had to be your mother or spouse of more than a decade to warrant even a definite nod of acknowledgment. No, there were definitely no protocols in the Bucky Barnes Handbook for dealing with deliberate eye contact this early in the AM.

His brain further short-circuited when he realised the guy was cute. No, amend that - _very_ cute. He was quite short and almost swallowed by a green fluffy parka at least three sizes too big for him. His floppy blond hair was buzzed short on the sides, framing a slim but gorgeous face, and the long pale fingers clutching a cardboard cup sparkled with rings. Skinny jeans tucked neatly into battered biker boots, and the collage of patches and badges rippling on his clothes made Bucky want to scoot closer in order to read them. Too close. He held himself back and raised a questioning eyebrow - trying to hold onto the remains of his dignity during this catastrophic breach of morning etiquette.

‘The next one’s gonna be just as bad, you know.’

Patches smiled, and Bucky’s brain finally caught up to realise that not only was the guy’s voice as gorgeous as his face - he was American, the deep familiar tone jarring after the crazy variety of voices he had waded through in the past couple of weeks.

‘How d’you know that?’ Bucky asked before he could think too much. ‘The board’s still the same.’

‘Just do.’ Patches chewed his fingernail thoughtfully for a second, and Bucky tried very hard not to stare too closely at his (very attractive) mouth. ‘It’s happened a few times, but they never say until the last minute; so you get stuck waiting here forever. I was thinking about taking the bus, but that’s even worse most of the time.’

Bucky nodded in sympathy. The roads in London were insane. He had thought NYC was bad, but at least the grid system made some kind of sense. Here vehicles could be stationary for hours or go in circles for days, and potentially end up four towns over before realising they took a wrong turn back at the large plastic animal ornament painted in primary colours. It was only a few miles from the station to where Bucky worked, but it may as well have been the moon for all anyone could reliably get there in the same season they set off.

‘Looks like we’re stuck waiting then.’ Bucky said, sighing as he looked at the useless board for the 38th time, inwardly berating himself for the habit. ‘Eventually there should be one with space.’

‘I hope so.’ Patches said glumly. ‘I have a presentation this morning, and I really hoped that leaving over an hour early would be enough; more fool me.’

‘That sucks.’ Bucky agreed. ‘We’ll just have to make sure we get on the next one then.’

‘If it’s four carriages again, there’s no way. The next train’s always even busier than the last one.’ Patches said, nodding towards the stairs. 

Bucky turned around to see more people pouring up the stairs and into the station. There was a small cluster of people forming where he and Patches stood already, along with the forlorn and more solitary stragglers left from the failed first attempt.

‘We’ll do it.’ Bucky said, with more confidence than he felt. ‘We’re getting on the next train, or so help me. You need to get to your presentation, and I’m not standing here for hours waiting for a hypothetical train to appear that might have enough space to fit my tired ass in a space the size of a soup can.’

Patches just looked at him like he might be slightly touched in the head, which wasn’t so far off the mark that Bucky felt he could be indignant about it. Instead he grinned with what he hoped was reassuring bravado and gestured to the edge of the platform with his coffee.

‘We have a plan this time. We know if it’s four carriages the doors stop here, right? So we get right in front of the doors and force our way on. We’ll be first in line.’

‘We could…’ Patches said. ‘But there still might not be enough room.’

‘We’ll make room.’ Bucky said firmly. ‘I’m great at Tetris, and I can use elbows if necessary.’ He winked, then instantly regretted it - thinking he probably looked and sounded like a total idiot.

‘Alright then, let’s do it.’ Patches said, smiling broadly, and Bucky wasn’t at all sure about his crazy plan for a multitude of very good reasons, but whatever train he got, he wanted it to be in the direction this guy was going, for at least the immediate future.

‘Y’know,’ Bucky began, ‘If we’re going into the jaws of death together, introductions are probably necessary.’ He held up his coffee in a sloppy salute. ‘I’m James, but everyone calls me Bucky. I’d shake but- ’ He rapped the edge of the coffee cup against his prosthetic arm to emphasise the sound. ‘The coffee comes first; you understand.’

‘Of course. Priorities, I get it.’ Patches nodded solemnly, returning the salute with a lazy flick of his fingers. ‘I’m Steve. You work in Zone 1, Bucky?’

‘Yeah just moved here, if you couldn’t already guess.’ Bucky replied. ‘ I work in the Smithfield building near Farringdon.’

‘Ah, I’m just round the corner - Save the Children offices.’ Stave said. ‘The one with the jungle outside.’ He clarified after Bucky’s blank look, and Bucky nodded in recognition. There were a lot of beautiful plants in that courtyard, and Bucky had thought when he passed it of maybe eating lunch there sometime.

‘We’re both definite outsiders, talking like this at the station.’ Steve continued. ‘But I never saw you here before this week, and you walked up and down the platform like you weren’t sure where to stand. It’s the dead giveaway of a newcomer.’

‘You were watching me?’ Bucky was surprised. He didn’t think he stood out that much, but maybe his anxiety was showing more than he realised. Dammit - 

‘No! Well, I mean yes, I was.’ Steve said, blushing. ‘Not like how you think, I swear - I just, I noticed your suits.’

‘My suits?’

‘They look good.’ Steve was pretty red now, looking mostly at the floor. ‘I don’t miss corporate at all, but it’s nice to see a well-fitting suit sometimes. Even this early, you always look great.’

‘Wow, um, thanks.’ Bucky wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he just waved his cup at Steve again and stepped a little closer. ‘I saw your badges first.’ He admitted, which wasn’t a total lie so he was going with it. ‘You collect them?’

‘They’re from causes important to me.’ Steve said, and Bucky could make out several LGBT flags and slogans, Me Too, Black Lives Matter and even a couple from veterans charities Bucky recognised from back home, along with a big ‘Save The Children’ button on his left lapel.

‘They're awesome. We have to speak up, right?’ Bucky said, though it sounded hollow to his ears. He was well aware that this was the most conversation he had exchanged in months with anyone besides his worried mother.

‘Sure!’ Steve said, excited. ‘We can’t sit back and let the bad things just happen around us. The world will change for the better if we all work together. We have to make our voices heard and highlight the injustices in the system, for everyone. We have to push back!’

Steve’s eyes lit up as he spoke, obviously so passionate in his convictions, and Bucky for a second felt so very small. What had he done since he came back? Sat and wallowed at home on both sides of the ocean, ignoring his arm and all the support offered him by countless medical teams, and even his family and friends. ‘Not engaging with services,’ they called it. That was an understatement - he hadn’t engaged with the world at all, just drifted to and from work like a ghost, picking up a pay check to survive in an empty room.

What was missing was this energy of Steve’s; this focus. Bucky had been so tired for so long, and now he was confused as hell but exhilarated by this stranger who had crashed into his morning and defied all the laws of commuting. Steve wore his goals for everyone to see, and shoved back the grey fog in Bucky’s mind to reveal a vibrant colour painting of the life he could lead, if only he had the courage. It was like an electric jolt to his spine, waking muscles and thoughts he assumed had wasted away.

‘Yeah, I think so too.’ Bucky said, and to his surprise he believed it. ‘We have to act to make a difference. Today though we can’t do anything until we get to work, so we have to be ready. Train’s coming in a few minutes.’

‘Okay,’ Steve said, standing wonderfully close to Bucky now, eyes flashing with mischievous energy. ‘How d’you want to do this?’

‘Hang on.’ Bucky took a step to throw his coffee cup in the trash. ‘We’re going to have to hold hands, so I need a hand.’ He wiggled his fingers for emphasis, then tucked the prosthesis firmly against his side. ‘Then I say we just go for it - No hesitation. I’ll go on ahead and drag you behind me. As long as we don’t let go, we should be able to make room.’

Steve raised an eyebrow but he was obviously trying not to laugh.

‘That’s crazy, but it might work if you can get far enough inside.’ He chewed his lip for a few seconds, and again Bucky was again forced to pry his eyes away to deter inappropriate thoughts. ‘What about the others?’ Steve asked. 

'What do you mean?’

‘I bet we could get more than two people on, if we really tried.’ Steve said, grinning. ‘I can grab someone else too.’

Bucky looked around at the crowds on the platform. A few passengers who missed the first train were hovering nearby, listening to their conversation with a mixture of interest and disbelief.

‘Form a human chain?’ Bucky laughed. ‘Yeah, why the hell not?’ He raised his voice to carry slightly to the people nearby. ‘Hey guys, we’re gonna line up and pull each other onto the next train so we’re not standing here all day. You wanna come?’

‘Sure.’ A young woman Bucky recognised from the coffee shop stepped forward. ’It’s worth a try.’ 

‘I’ll do it.’ A tall guy who had been pacing up and down for the last ten minutes came over and held out his hand to Steve and Bucky in turn. ‘Chris. I’m sick of being late.’

‘Yeah, count me in.’ Said another voice, and before long they were a band of half a dozen co-conspirators, lining up on the platform and arguing the method for what Bucky was still calling the ‘human chain.’

‘Alice should go next to you, and then Chris can hold onto Bola since there’s less space at the end of the line.’

‘No wait, what about my coffee?’

‘Put your backpack around your middle - that’s it.’

‘Okay, I think we’ve got it. Bucky, are you and Steve still going first?’

‘Of course, it was my idea.’ Bucky said, trying not to let his anxiety out again. It had started off as a silly ‘fuck you’ to public transportation, and now he had a line of people at his back relying on him to get them to work on time. Well, shit. He couldn’t back down now. He’d faced machine guns for god’s sake, this couldn’t possibly be any worse. Could it?

The train was pulling into the station, and Bucky forced himself to drag his eyes away from its slow advance to look at Steve, standing patiently by his side. Steve’s hair shone gold when it caught the light and Bucky knew he was pretty far gone. His stomach swooped at the realisation. 

‘You know, if we get out of this in one piece.’ Steve said quietly, smiling. ‘Would you like to go for coffee sometime?’

‘Yeah,’ Bucky choked out, his throat squeezed with nerves. ‘I really would. Meet you underneath the obnoxious worm sculpture at 5?’

‘It would be my pleasure.’ Steve said with a laugh. ‘But I really hate that fucking thing. It looks more like a pretzel!’

‘I agree; To the pretzel then, once we reach our goal.’ Bucky said to Steve as the train doors hissed open inches from their faces. _My first ever goal._ He added silently to himself as he felt their fellowship of passengers shift and ripple at his back. The crowd behind them grew larger, people shoving and jostling to try and get closer to the train.

The mass of groaning bodies squashed into the carriage leered out of the dark, pressing closer; eyes filled with equal parts anger and disgust at the hopefuls waiting outside. 

Bucky squared his shoulders, summoned all his courage and winked at Steve, holding out his hand and saying in the deepest and most ridiculous voice he could muster:

‘Come with me if you want to live.’

Steve grasped Bucky’s hand firmly, and as he leaned in his reply was too soft for anyone else to hear.

‘Anytime.’

Steve reached behind himself with his other hand, and the chain formed all at once, arms of all shapes and sizes linking together. The crowd at their backs froze for a second in bewilderment as everyone got into position and held on tight. They met Bucky's eyes and nodded as one, signalling that they were ready. 

Bucky looked ahead into the darkness of the train, feeling Steve squeeze his fingers gently in encouragement. Steve, practically a stranger, depended on him - trusted _him._ He fixed his mind on his new goals, seeing a future for the first time in forever - coffee with Steve in the sun, laughter, a sense of peace. He had something to fight for, strive for. 

Bucky stepped forward with all the confidence of the soldier he still was, and _pushed._

**Author's Note:**

> This is admittedly a very silly idea, but it's based heavily on the true story of my first week commuting in London. Those were strange times indeed!
> 
> Sharp-eyed folks might be able to work out at what train station Steve and Bucky were stranded. The pretzel-worm is also very real but he is installed in a park in South-East London and not in Farringdon.
> 
> Finally I guess I have to dedicate this daft thing to my real-life train gang co-conspirator (and since then, friend) - thanks for everything Catherine! :)


End file.
